


Times Two

by Mobbo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Reincarnation, Spoilers for CR episode 26, author takes wild guesses at the spelling of everything, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:12:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mobbo/pseuds/Mobbo
Summary: There are moments, in between, where a familiar face almost seems like someone else, where Caleb should have long black hair, or Fjord should be heavily muscled and tattooed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m only like two episodes into season one but I’ve seen a couple animatics. Excuse the criminal lack of Tiberius but Orion isn’t in season two so I’m assuming something happens and he dies (not Orion, Tiberius). I’d appreciate if you don’t spoil anything for me haha

It’s odd. Walking into a store, and instinctively looking around for any new instruments. Nott has never played before, growing up with her tribe there was never much opportunity, and then in jail there was no such thing as music, only the four walls of her cell and Caleb. When she first sees him, despite her terror, there’s some part of her that sings in joy to see an old friend again.

That is quickly brushed off in favour of continued survival, but every so often when he speaks, all she sees is raven feathers, drifting away on a breeze. Sometimes she feels like she should be able to disappear. She’s stealthy, very stealthy and quiet, but it’s not the same. She’s felt like she’s done it before, melted from view, or used invisible servants, or even cast beautiful magic hands, but she never has, and likely never will.

* * *

It’s odd. Sometimes when Beau throws a punch, she almost feels like the air should flow with it, the wind carrying off of her fist and into her enemies gut. It never does, never will, but the feeling is still there.

Sometimes there’s an odd ache in her bones, not in the way that it doesn’t feel like her body is her own, but in the way that she feels she should be able to change shape, shift to suit her needs. It’s ridiculous, she’s a monk, not a Druid.

Even so, the ache persists. Sometimes, when she looks at cliffs, there’s a feeling of dread, like she’s died there before.

* * *

 Mollmauk is an oddity, Yasha decides. Not in the way everyone else sees him, a tiefling with purple skin and red eyes, honey on his tongue and scars on his chest. No, he is an oddity in the way she sees him.

Somehow, she expects him to have a gun on his back, on in his belt, and when they first meet, she would subconsciously look up when he spoke, perhaps to make eye contact. The only times she’s had to look up to see him are when she’s flat on her back, and more often than not he’s flat on his back with her.

When she steps into stores, sometimes, her eyes seek out armour, or heavy hammers and maces, unlike the blades she wields, and the name Sarenrae dangles on her lips like ash.

* * *

Sometimes he looks down to make eye contact with Yasha. It’s nonsensical, she’s far taller then him, but in the same respect she looks up. If he were to believe in reincarnation, he might say they knew each other in a past life.

In the same fashion, his hands sometimes fly to weapons that aren’t there, rather than his blades, and he expects glasses on the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, when he looks at Jester, all he sees is dear to him, dearer than any friend could be.

* * *

Fjord knows, logically, that he isn’t as strong as he sometimes believes he is. That he can’t take as much damage as his instincts sometimes tell him. He is a warlock, not exactly a willing one, but even so he is far from a barbarian.

Seeing Jester is odd as well, sometimes her accent doesn’t seem quite right, like her voice should be more noble, like some high elf. It’s nonsense, the little tiefling girl is far from eleven nobility.

Occasionally, when he gets into fights, his first thought is always ‘I would like to rage.’

* * *

Caleb sometimes has to remind himself he doesn’t have wings. It’s stupid, the sky’s never appeared overly appealing to him, the earth and dirt under his feet was far more reassuring.

Even so, there’s always a twisting sensation in his gut if he looks up for too long.

Ravens sometimes perch on branches near him, watching him with eyes that seem far too intelligent, like some grand being is watching him through their eyes.

* * *

 The Traveler is her first and closest friend, really. He was kind and funny, and showed her a way out of her little room, giving her the gift of different faces and a duplicate.

Despite that, there’s always a slight ache in her fingers, like she’s expecting a bowstring to rest there. On one of her first trips Outside, she expects a bear in battle armour to come snuffling up to her. After that, it’s hard to fall asleep without a fur of some kind to twist her fingers into.

Despite having never having of seen the scruffy man at the bar before, meeting Caleb is like finding half of her soul again.


	2. Caduceus

Quietly, Caduceus pours two cups of tea and pushes one over. A scarred purple hand takes it, for a moment, and then a pale hand with fingerless gloves, and then no one at all and he’s left blinking at thin air.

Why had he poured two cups?

The Mighty Nein are a little weird, he thinks. In a good way, as all weird things are, but it’s hard to look them in the eyes sometimes.

He feels like he knows them, these people he’s never known before.

Early, when no one else has blinked awake and he has last watch, he’ll quietly ask the Wildmother about it. Usually, all he receives in return is... the sensation of smiles. Of warmth.

He looks at his hands sometimes and expects purple.

He looks at Caleb and sees black, grand wings arching from his back and Caleb is weird but not that Weird.

He looks at Jester and sees the mirror image of The-Caleb-That-Is-Not, bow steady in her hands and something furred at her back.

He looks at Beau and doesn’t see the familiar shades of blue, instead sees greens and browns and a wild splash of red-orange. 

But sometimes... all he sees is dirt. Dirt, pressing down, enclosing, suffocating.

During those times, he looks at Fjord. He looks at Fjord and thinks of a man who could hold his breath until he’s pulled free from solid stone.

He looks at Nott and sees a woman who could pull herself together after drowning, and sees a child or perhaps someone really short, always with an innuendo on the tip of the tongue.

And Yasha... Yasha is an old friend, and a protector. She’s the one to go to for healed wounds, the rock of their party.

But she’s _not_.

Caduceus stands in front of a newly dug grave. Watches the cloak flutter in the breeze. Watches the tears of his new friends streak down their faces. 

‘ _I’m_ _sorry_ ,’ he thinks, slow and soft. ‘ _But_ _I_ _know_ _who_ _I_ _am_.’

‘ _I’m_ _sorry_ _you_ _had_ _to_ _push_ _to_ _be_ _yourself_.’

Before today, Caduceus never thought of a man named Mollymauk Tealeaf. It was likely that afterwards, he would never think again of a man named Mollymauk Tealeaf, not in any real way.

But for today, as Decay sets into that new grave, Caduceus knew Molly. Knew and knows and understands.

A purple butterfly floats past on a breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thinkin bout Molly got me sad. Still not caught up in campaign one, would appreciate no spoilers.

**Author's Note:**

> ...so is it obvious that I dont really know the season one characters? haha. I keep forgetting Percy exists. Keyleth too.


End file.
